A Marauder's Christmas
by Sham Harga
Summary: Involving crass songs, brilliant presents and a smattering of slash - come enjoy the Marauder's first Christmas on their own.


**Disclaimer:** The Marauders, Hogwarts, Dumbledore and anything else from Harry Potter belong to JK Rowling. The song lyrics are from 'The Christmas Song' sung by Nat 'King' Cole and belong to whoever wrote it. The 'bother' reference is an homage to Neil Cicierega (check out Potter Puppet Pals if you don't get it. Do it anyway.) Father Christmas/Santa Claus belongs to Pagans and the Coca Cola company. And Christmas belongs to Jesus. I do own my fancy new fluffy slippers though. And the plot, possibly.

**Summary, sort of.**

I got an urge to do something Christmassy to mirror my mood of festive cheer - and what better way to do that than set the Marauders free to wreak havoc on Christmas? The premise is that Sirius' Great Uncle Alphard (the one who gave him all the money) died sometime in October of the M-Team's final year. Therefore, Sirius could buy his own place and be there in the holidays (unless he wanted to hang out at Hogwarts) - such as Christmas. And what do you do if you have your own place and a bunch of good mates? Why, you bring the two together!

I got this idea when I was listening to a Christmas album - and whenever I listened to the Christmas Song the Marauders would pop up having fun, so I've put the lyrics in, too. This isn't a songfic, the words are more titles for each little connecting ficlet.

**Warnings:**

Plenty of these, it is R-rated for these reasons

**1) Language. Sorry if it offends. You will find some vulgar and crass ditties penned by yours truly in a few thousand words time. I'm sorry, and if you're easily offended just skip the lyrics bits (it's clear where they are).**

**2) Slash. I tried to do it without, but Remus and Sirius are so cute, and some of the lyrics are just made for puppy love. Although it's an R there's nothing very graphic - the rating is more just because the slash is there… and because I have a dirty mouth as mentioned above.**

**3) Disjointed nature. Most important warning. The following stories all take place within the same timeframe, but not necessarily in chronological order. They go in accordance with the song words rather than keep time flowing properly. I'll put a guide here for the faint of heart in case you get lost…**

Story One - Afternoon, Christmas Eve

Story Two - Day before leave Hogwarts (about Dec 21)

Story Three - Afternoon, Christmas Day

Story Four - Just before midnight, Christmas Eve

Story Five - Just after midnight, Christmas Day

Story Six - 12:30 am, Christmas Day

Story Seven - 4 am, Christmas Day

* * *

**Chestnuts roasting on an open fire.**

**Jack Frost nipping at your nose**

"Padfoot! Watch what you're doing!" Peter's cries were mixed with irritation and fear as the flames from the makeshift fire engulfed the chestnut he had nearly roasted to perfection. His eyebrows knotted in annoyance as he regarded what was now just a ball of ash on a stick.

"Sorry Pete," said Sirius, not sounding apologetic in the slightest, "but what's the point of a fire if it's not roaring?"

Remus shook his head and passed his own perfectly crisp chestnut to the still distraught Peter.

"I think that's roaring enough now, Sirius," he warned, "Any more and the fire will stop growling and just up and eat us."

Sirius pouted and scuffed the snow with his boots. "In case you hadn't noticed Moony, it's bloody freezing out here."

He looked around the snow-dusted garden. Every bough hung with a generous frosting of pure white snow and the neat little lawn had been crystallised with ice. The window ledge was decorated with a string of icicles and framed the grinning face of a very smug James Potter. James, who claimed that chestnuts 'taste like forest floor – it's like eating pinecones', had decided to stay in the small, but above all, warm, kitchen and watch the other three Marauders, who sat shivering on the patio with a small fire, a bag of chestnuts and a lot of hope, with some amusement.

Sirius waited until Remus was focussed on the task of toasting another nut before gripping his wand surreptitiously and muttering yet anotherspell to increase the fire's intensity. Or at least that was the plan. Before he could even utter the incantation, Remus, without looking up from his important task, said,

"Don't bother Padfoot."

"It's my house," sulked Sirius, frustrated at being caught, and by Moony's casual, but totally accurate, sixth sense. He was aware that he sounded like a petulant child and this annoyed him even further.

Now that he had finally left school Sirius was determined not to be lectured by anyone – especially not by spoilsport little psychics that were four months younger than him anyway thankyou very much – so he ignored and defiantly pronounced the charm.

"Aloincendio!"

Remus' naturally superior werewolf reflexes had been further honed by seven years in the company of Sirius and James and he had knocked Peter to the ground even before Sirius had finished the incantation.

The fireball roared as it blasted skyward; not the half-hearted snarl of idly licking flames, but the ancient guttural bellow of a blazing, scorching inferno. The tower of flame blossomed into a radiant rose that burnt itself on the eyeballs, orange petals glowing merrily as the yellow fronds crackled and tickled them from the blistering stem.

"Interstinguo!" Remus shouted through the choking smoke that was beginning to cloak the entire garden as the snow turned to instant slush with the heat.

As fast as it had grown, the rose wilted and decayed into a pile of ash. The remains of the chestnuts were indistinguishable from the rest of the blackened cinders that coated the garden like grey snow.

The shocked silence that followed was so oppressive it pained the ears. Three stunned boys gaped at the guilty party in a state of almost comatose disbelief.

Sirius blinked innocently through singed eyelashes.

**Yule-tide carols being sung by a choir**

**And folks dressed up like Eskimos**

Sirius was practically rubbing his hands with mischievous glee as he joined the rest of the Marauders at their usual seats in the Great Hall. It was the final day before Christmas break, and the entire castle was like a giant Christmas tree, strung with filigree silver and gold, lights hovering as fairies fluttered daintily from wreath to wreath. The thousands of flickering candles filled many arches with a soft, romantic glow and left even more corners shadowy for less savoury pursuits. The air was electric and the excitement tangible as the festive spirit infected everyone. No one more so than Sirius Black; the prospect of a Christmas with his friends, and perhaps more importantly, without his family, and the imminent satisfaction of a prank well done filled his with a cheer and warmth achieved by only the best mulled wine.

"Well?" James leaned forward eagerly.

"Done. All the sheets have been replaced."

"I'm not sure that this is entirely fair. It is Christmas after all." Remus offered.

It was clear to everyone from his half hearted tone that Remus was merely objecting on principle, he had, after all, taken an unusually large role in this particular prank. Sirius and James had been shocked to learn that Remus' unusually extensive vocabulary encompassed an impressive range of curses and swearwords and these had found a valued place in their latest coup.

Sirius leaned his chair back on two legs and waved his hand dismissively. "Nonsense."

"I think that if they intend to subject us to carol singing they deserve everything they get." Piped up Peter and a chuckle of agreement rose from the small group. The snort he earned from James made him beam with pleasure at his hero's approval.

After his next comment, "And definitely if they think they're going to get away with delaying dinner for it." most of the hilarity was at his expense rather than with him but fortunately for Peter he missed the distinction.

Some of the more astute Gryffindors looked suspiciously at the group from their various conversations. The sound of Marauder's laughter was rarely a comforting noise, while it often invited further amusement there was always the possibility that said amusement would be directing in your direction as your suffered the brunt of one of their famed pranks. However, none of the chaos or flying spells associated with such gags was forthcoming and the wary students relaxed and loud chatter once more dominated the table and added to the raucous din that filled the hall.

A minute or so later Dumbledore rose at the teacher's table and raised his hands for silence as the newly formed choir filed into the room and assembled at the front of the hall in nervous rows. Many of the students hid their faces behind their music sheets but Professor Flitwick who had assumed the role of choir master for the evening stood proudly on his box as he raised his wand.

The music began and the choir launched into the familiar strains of "Deck the Halls". However, as the students listened, or, in most cases, stared absently into space, they got an odd notion that something was amiss. People looked up from their distracted dozing and cocked their heads, intrigued. Instead of the familiar, recognizable and boring lyrics that comprised of "holly", "jolly" and other assorted things ending in 'olly' the words being sung rather hesitantly were somewhat different - jarring.

'Deck your balls with boughs of holly (falalalalalalalala)

If you sit down you'll be sorry

A sliced sac takes ages to mend

It'll leave scars on your bell-end.'

By this time the falala's had totally petered out and the choir were all studying the pages in front of them in shocked disbelief. Flitwick, however, seemed to be unaware of the crisis and, undeterred, gestured wildly for the appalled singers to continue, much to the amusement of the now attentive audience.

To their credit the choir rallied and carried on with as much gusto as they could muster.

'Some advice for when you're plastered,

Don't punch any six foot bastard.

Try to remember whose bed you're in,

And don't wake up in your own urine.'

At this point the medley moved onto and Flitwick seemed to have no intention of stopping. So caught up in the music was he that he had totally missed the lyrical alteration. The other teachers, however, were not so ignorant. Many looked furious, especially McGonagall who had blanched and was glaring daggers at the Marauders, her tight-lipped expression one of disgusted fury. Some of the younger teachers were guiltily trying to disguise their amusement; Madame Hetwal the Astronomy teacher was studying the stars on the ceiling with most intensity than she did in class and Professor Kirk was fiercely clutching the tablecloth as his shoulders shook uncontrollably. Dumbledore looked neither amused nor angry, but looked sadly at Remus with an appearance of weary resignation. As the lyrics he had had so much input into echoed around the halls accompanied by the surprised giggles of the students Remus felt embarrassed and immature. None of the other Marauders seemed to be having the same problems though; Sirius even began to sing along. Dirty words and vulgar statements had an uncanny way of burning themselves onto Sirius' memory.

'Good King Wenceslas was sad,

He was such a loner.

He had got no women friends,

Just a constant boner.

One Christmas he'd had enough

His torment was too awful

So after getting really pissed

He went down to a brothel.'

What King Wenceslas did after that was never revealed, as the riotous laughter in reached thunderous levels and drowned out any further attempts at singing, to Professor Flitwick's bewildered disappointment, but to the choir's obvious relief.

But in amidst all the giggles and guffaws nobody laughed harder than the extremely proud, hysterical and infamous Sirius Black, James Potter, Peter Pettigrew, and, after some light reprimands from his conscience, Remus Lupin.

**Everybody knows a turkey and some mistletoe**

**Help to make the season bright**

"Moony?"

"What Sirius?" Remus' muffled tone only betrayed a hint of his exasperation. His head was currently buried in the oven as he tried to squeeze the tray of parsnips in between the turkey and potatoes that were already jostling for position. After several tense moments of this careful operation, and acquiring a few new burns to add to his scars, Remus gave up. The oven was going to need an enlargement charm on the inside unless the boys wanted to eat only one dish at a time. Grumbling the spell Remus slid the parsnips into the now accommodating oven. He was still unsure of how he had been nominated to take the role of Head Chef, having no culinary experience whatsoever beyond beans on toast. However, as James pointed out, this put him ahead of the other Marauders and so Remus had been holed up in the kitchen all morning, forced to do things the Muggle way after his magical attempts at slicing carrots had nearly lost him an eye. James was second in command and currently massacring pastry in his attempts at making mince pies. Peter had the enviable task of tidying the only other room on the ground floor, that served as both living and dining room, and laying the table for dinner, although the crashing sounds that they had heard earlier suggested that his levitation spells still hadn't improved much. And Sirius – well Sirius, who was technically hosting the Marauder's first solo Christmas, all he seemed to be doing was standing around and looking pretty.

Remus turned to face the self dubbed 'co-ordinator', who was, as Remus had suspected, just standing there with a winsome grin plastered all over his face.

"What?" Remus asked again.

Sirius' eyes flickered to a point above Remus' head and his eyebrows wiggled cheekily. Remus looked up but there was nothing there except the spice rack affixed to the wall behind his head. Confused, Remus studied Sirius' face. His smile had changed to one of seduction and his expression softened as he leaned closer, and thoughts clicked together and Remus understood.

"No, Sirius." He stopped the dark haired boy as his lips began to purse. "That's rosemary."

Both boys looked at the herb hanging in a spry sprig from the rack.

"Not mistletoe then?"

"No."

"You sure?"

"Positive. Now do something useful and do the brocolli." And ignoring Sirius' grouchy protestations Remus turned his attention back to the oven.

An hour later everyone's appetites had been given a rigorous work out, and an enthusiastic cheer rose from the dining table as Remus proudly brought through the miraculously unburned turkey. James set about carving with a ravenous intensity and Remus headed back to the kitchen to ferry through the rest of the many dishes. To his surprise Sirius leapt up from the table and cried,

"I'll give you a hand Moony."

Remus soon found out why when Sirius grabbed his hand in the hall and stopped him in the kitchen doorway. Remus rolled his eyes skyward.

"Sirius, even _you _know that's holly."

And instead of the embrace of a warm body that he had expected Sirius found a dish of potatoes thrust into his open arms.

Midway through dinner Remus was aware of movement above his head. Sirius was smiling hopefully and his hand was held above Remus' head, dangling something green.

"Sirius! That's just grass!" Remus sounded disgusted. "Did you just pick that up from the garden? Put it down before – oh great, now it's on my turkey."

James and Peter were lounging off a surprisingly delicious meal when Sirius wandered out of the dining room to find Remus. He was not chained to the sink as Sirius had imagined, but stood in the front doorway, his lonely silhouette watching the soft flakes fall in the waning sunlight.

"Remus! What the hell do you think you're doing?" Sirius wrapped his arms around the smaller boy protectively, "You'll catch your death."

Remus smiled wryly and shook his head.

"Well you'll let all the bloody heat out of the house, silly git. Why are you lurking here?"

Remus didn't say a word, but inclined his head slightly. Sirius' gaze darted upwards and saw, hanging from the door frame a small green plant with white berries winking down on the pair.

**Tiny tots with their eyes all aglow**

**Will find it hard to sleep tonight**

"Five minutes! Five minutes!" Sirius swung around Remus' neck and cried in his ear, "Five minutes! Five minutes!"

Remus shrugged the giddy boy from his shoulders and smiled, "Yes Padfoot, five minutes."

"Five minutes 'til Christmas Day! Five minutes!" Sirius wrestled Remus to the ground and began generously bestowing kisses all over his face and neck. His eager snuffling was so reminiscent of his Animagus form that Remus felt he was being pinned down by an enormous dog.

"Alright! Alright!" Remus laughed and pushed the heavy boy from him, for a slight boy he did this with surprising ease. Often Remus attempted to disguise his unnatural strength, but not when he was being crushed beneath a drunk and overly affectionate Padfoot. "Go bother somebody else."

Sirius looked around the room. James had retreated to the kitchen to further line his stomach with burned mince pies and Peter, being sprawled on the couch in Butterbeer-induced sleep, was unlikely to join in any frivolity.

"There's no one else to bother. And I like bothering you." Remus knew what was coming and had already rounded the settee before Sirius chased him shrilly shouting 'bother bother bother'. Upon hearing this battle cry James raced back into the room and helped Sirius corner Remus, whereupon the two continued to cry 'bother' and poke him into giggling submission.

"OK! OK! Quits!" Remus cowered on the floor, shaking with laughter.

Sirius and James backed away and instantly Remus toppled them, springing up from his huddled position and standing victorious above the two shaken boys who had suffered at the hands of his superior strength and reflexes.

"Fools!" he crowed, and wagged his finger when the two looked about to retaliate. "I've got to get the presents, because …" Remus did not finish his sentence, but instead nodded to the clock resting on the mantelpiece, which showed two hands pointing proudly upwards and only the second hand making its journey from nine towards twelve.

As Sirius and James stared transfixed at the hand that slowly worked its way to vertical Remus climbed the stairs to the master bedroom that he and Sirius were sharing and pulled a heavy trunk from beneath the bed. Remus had been the obvious choice to look after all the presents on their journey from Hogwarts to Sirius' home, being the only one trustworthy enough not to peek inside the tempting, bright wrapping. Or so the others thought; Remus had had to exercise a great deal of self control not to rip off the packaging of the ton of Honeyduke's chocolate his careful inspection had revealed Lily had bought for him. As he lugged the weighty case down the stairs he heard the ecstatic roar of Sirius and James welcoming Christmas Day, followed by the groggy grumbles of a newly woken Peter.

All three pairs of eyes lit up as Remus rounded the corner with the bag they knew to be full of presents and Sirius made to open it.

"No." Remus said firmly. "It might be Christmas Day, but it's not Christmas morning."

"But mum.." whined James, and Sirius looked as though he had been slapped. A snore from the couch indicated that Peter really didn't care too much about the matter.

"No buts. The wait will make it all the more exciting. Do something useful and clear the bottles away while I put these under the tree."

It never failed to amaze Remus that if he spoke with enough authority even Sirius and James would do as he said. Perhaps not willingly, but despite their grumbles the bottles littering the floor and hearth were reluctantly disposed of.

It took Remus a while to arrange all the many gifts from family, friends and admirers (mostly Sirius' ) beneath the boughs of the small tree, but it also took Sirius and James a considerable time to remove all the bottles there were so many. Sirius had turned eighteen that November and had decided to celebrate his first independent holiday by drinking himself stupid so that he was still dependent on other people to get him to bed. Usually Remus.

The moment Remus sat back, satisfied, Sirius and James were on the pile, fiddling with labels and stroking shining paper.

"You can look - but don't open them." Remus chided, his stern tone a joke.

Both pouted but did not argue, too busy digging in the piles for labels with their names on.

"Vultures."

James was eagerly fondling parcel after parcel, trying to gauge by their shape their content. Sirius, on the other hand, had lost his child-like enthusiasm and was looking distinctly confused, and a little put out.

"Hey, Prongs, Moony, where's my presents from you guys?"

"Who says we got you one?" Remus replied, amused.

"That joke is in incredible bad taste. I'm serious, I can't find a single present from you two, or Pete. What's going on?"

"We got you a joint one." Explained James.

Sirius was placated for a moment, before the frown appeared again. "There's still an absence of present."

"It's not here." Remus said simply.

"I can see that."

Remus sighed. This was not going to go away any time soon. "Shall we give it him now?" He asked James, whose exclamation of agreement was so enthusiastic he dropped the present he was holding, which gave a muffled crash as it hit the carpet.

"Is it broken?" James nodded mournfully and turned the battered shape over in his hands. Something caught his eye.

"Never mind," he said cheerfully, "it was Wormtail's."

**They know that Santa's on his way**

**He's loaded lots of toys and goodies on his sleigh**

"Whatisit?Whatisit?Whatisit?" Sirius was gabbling excitedly as Remus took his hand and led him from the room. James shook Peter awake before following eagerly.

"Whatisit?Whatisit?" Sirius jiggled Remus' arm as he attempted to release some of his wound up energy. He was fidgeting animatedly and each step was an impatient half bounce. James who was following closely behind looked almost as agitated as Remus opened the back door.

Sirius' face fell for a moment. "You better not give me the sky or anything soppy like that Moony." He glared sceptically at the boy leading him into the snow.

"And they say romance is dead." Remus sighed. "Don't worry Padfoot, it turns out stars are a bugger to wrap, so we got you an actual present instead."

"Good." cried Sirius, resuming his eager jig. "It's material things I want."

"Superficial things for a shallow guy."

James interrupted the good natured banter before it could begin. "Show him! Show him!" James' obvious anticipation fuelled Sirius' restlessness and he practically worked Remus' arm from his socket as he exclaimed "Show me! Show me!"

"I don't know." Teased Remus, wriggling from Sirius' increasingly dangerous grasp.

"What?" This torture was too much for Sirius. He was not known for his patience, and the prospect of presents was a temptation he could not resist. Making him wait was just plain cruel. He grabbed the sandy haired boy by the shoulders and shook him incredulously. "Why are you doing this to me?"

"Just give him the damn present." Peter yawned, his hair a tousled mess from his nap on the couch.

"I think I will, before Padfoot shakes my head off."

"Violence will get you anywhere." Sirius announced smugly, ceasing his attack on his partner and watching, thrilled, as Remus went to the tumbledown shed, so ramshackle that it was actually propped up by the fence for support, and stepped into the darkness.

What emerged seconds later were the two most beautiful things Sirius had ever seen in his life. One, his boyfriend, he was obliged to apply the description to, and he did so gladly, adoring the way his sandy hair always fell into his amber eyes, that twinkled and smiled even when the rest of his face was immobile. But the other, his present, was so startlingly beautiful it took his breath away. The motorbike gleamed in the moonlight, a black light emanated from its smooth, glorious body. It glowed, perfect, like an angel, but only the devil could drive something this stylish.

"Well?"

Remus looked a little nervous, anxiously awaiting Sirius' response, but James had known from the minute it had been suggested that it would be perfect for the stunned boy who stood, staring in revered awe at their present.

"I don't believe it." he said. "Sirius Black - speechless? Note this down someone, it's a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence!"

"Do you like it?" Remus relaxed as he saw Sirius smile.

"It's perfect!" Sirius raced forward and began to - there was no other word for it - fondle the bike. Remus felt a little uncomfortable at such affection being shown to an inanimate object, especially after they'd only just met.

"Do you want to see how it works?" James rushed forward, eager, too, to get his hands on the beautiful piece of machinery. Sirius gaped in delighted astonishment as James directed him through the Muggle workings of the bike; ignition, gears, steering. He moved swiftly over braking and ran Sirius through the magical additions; cloaking device, seat expansion, silencing charm to muffle the noise and most importantly,

"It can fly?!" Sirius was amazed.

"Yep, these simple words," James demonstrated and the bike hovered slightly above the ground, "and the bike responds. Doesn't even need a wand."

"I have a flying motorbike." Instead of the excited yell the boys expected, Sirius merely whispered, as though the truth was so fragile it could be destroyed if spoken aloud. "How did you get it to fly?" he marvelled.

"Ah well," smiled James proudly, "That'd be Moony's work. All the magical improvements were his contribution."

Sirius understood the hidden meaning behind James' words. A motorbike was an expensive thing, and, unlike the other three, Remus rarely had money to spare. Desperate to make up for this Remus would have spent hours researching the spells, practicing them and eventually 'improving' the bike as James put it. Sirius turned gratefully to Remus, who looked slightly uncomfortable. He did not like to be reminded that living alone with his mother meant he had less available cash than his pureblood friends. He felt it created a greater schism between himself and those he so desperately wanted to belong to.

Sirius pulled him into a tight embrace and whispered a brief thank you before forcing their lips together in a fierce kiss. He turned to the other two who backed away slightly, fearing the same treatment, but Sirius merely hugged them both, choked by emotion and gratitude.

"Guys," Sirius looked at all three of his shivering but smiling friends. "I don't know what to say."

"Thanks." said Peter simply. "You say 'Thanks' and then you say, 'I bet you're all freezing your nadgers off here, hows about a nice hot chocolate?'"

And to his surprise Sirius said exactly that.

**And every mother's child is gonna spy**

**To see if reindeer really know how to fly**

Hot chocolate had been made and consumed gratefully. To his credit Sirius had sat through the whole process silently, but fidgeting incessantly. By the time Peter had slurped the last dregs from the bottom of his mug he was about to explode, or wring Wormtail's neck for taking so long.

"I'm going to take her for a test drive." The words burst out, impatient from their lengthy captivity.

James looked excited, Peter worried and Remus, well Remus looked concerned but not surprised. Sirius didn't wait for a response but the minute he had announced his intentions he made for the garden where his love lay glistening and inviting on the midnight snow. The others followed hastily.

"I don't think this is a good idea Sirius." Peter protested, wringing his hands as Sirius mounted the bike.

"Why not?"

"It's your first attempt."

"My first attempt will always be my first attempt, you know, traditionally known as the first attempt. This has to happen sometime Peter."

"But, but it's dark - and frosty."

"Dark is good, it'll disguise me."

"But it won't cover you up completely. Remember, we're in a Muggle neighbourhood Sirius." This was Remus, and his tone was serious. He of all people did not want to draw Ministry attention to himself. "What will they think when a motorbike with an inept driver careens past their window in the middle of the night?"

"That they're having a bad dream induced by a combination of alcohol and cheese."

"Sirius, the bike has an invisibility spell if it's needed, but we'd need to make you invisible, too, and that potion won't be read until the morning."

Sirius was stunned by his friends' forward planning, and touched that his boyfriend knew him so well that he made certain that all would be prepared for when he wanted to try out the bike. Remus had obviously known that Sirius would be desperate to give it a spin the minute he discovered it, but his smart, thoughtful Moony had assumed it would be later in the morning, and had prepared for that instead. Sirius felt moved, and guilty for pushing for his own way, but the fact was inescapable _he wanted to try out the bike._ He wanted to ride it with a need that consumed him and left him itchy all over.

"James! I can borrow the invisibility cloak."

"No you bloody well can't."

"But Prongs…"

"Sorry mate, I want to see her go almost as much as you, but you're not taking my most valued possession up in the air on your first go of that thing. No way."

"Don't worry." Sirius teased. "I'll wait 'til I'm used to it before I invite Lily on with me. I'll need to get used to the seat anyway, I imagine airborne sexual gymnastics are quite tricky on a motorbike."

Sirius dodged James' fist with a horrified cry of "Not near the bike!"

Remus hissed for them to keep the noise down, if they carried on the way they were going then they would disturb the neighbours without the help of a motorbike.

Sirius pulled his hair agitatedly. He was going to ride the bike. It's elegant allure was too tempting, and Sirius had limited reserves of self-control. But what Sirius lacked in resilience he made up for in ingenuity. He patted his pockets and finding them empty darted inside to the astonishment of the others.

"He left the bike." James whispered breathlessly.

"Not for long I bet." Remus' dry observation was correct. Moments later Sirius emerged with his wand. He was directing it at himself and rapidly muttering charms. His hair was now a blinding white colour and both his jacket and trousers were a tastelessly bright red. He picked some debris from the lawn at random - a small twig that had miraculously escaped the fiery purge of the exploding bonfire of that afternoon - and transfigured it into a fur trimmed crimson hat and jammed it on his head. With further incantations he added the same fur edging to his jacket and, it appeared, to his chin. It took the others a few moments to adjust their mental pictures of Sirius to incorporate full white beard and hair.

"If I can't go invisible," Sirius announced through his new whiskers, "I can at least go incognito."

"No." said Remus. "No, no, no, no, no."

"Accio keys." It was too late; the keys flew from Remus' pocket to Sirius, who in turn flew from the garden in a blur of black, red and white.

As the boys stood in mesmerised silence, watching the red-cloaked figure cross the skies, they heard the faint cry of "Ho ho ho" lifted on the wind.

James gathered himself and turned to Remus.

"You do know this makes you Mrs Claus?"

**And so I'm offering this simple phrase**

**From kids from one to ninety-two**

**Though it's been said many times, many ways**

**Merry Christmas to you**

After swearing that nobody had seen him (a lie - a father arranging presents four streets away could have sworn he saw a bearded figure in red plummet past his garden in a nosedive before regaining control of his wayward vehicle and taking to the skies once more. But since Father Christmas didn't ride a motorbike he put it down to a combination of alcohol and cheese.) Sirius and the others finally collapsed from exhaustion at four o'clock on Christmas Day morning. The magical fire was still roaring away and the dancing light illuminated the slumbering figures that had fallen asleep in the first place they found comfort.

James had replaced Peter on the couch, and was sprawled across the faded leather, glasses askew and hair preparing for its usual morning disarray. He snored lightly as he dreamt of those he loved, his parents and the smell of home-made mince pies, Lily and the smell of lavender kisses and his friends and their current smell of drink and snow, with a hint of smoke still clinging to them all.

Peter was curled up in the armchair, twitching slightly with nervous excitement as he relived past Christmasses waiting up for Santa, and the sweet defeat when the strain of listening for the soft tread of sooty boots became too much and fatigue flooded the body and drowned it in sleep.

Remus lay in front of the fire, basking in its warmth. His thoughts in sleep swam as busily as they did in consciousness, they flitted to dinner plans for tomorrow, fled from today's near misses of the fire and bike incidents, lingered for a while on Sirius' emotional thanks, fluttered around the phase of the moon and came to rest once more on Sirius. Sirius' voice, Sirius' eyes, Sirius' lips, Sirius' arms enveloping him in a tender hug.

As Remus unconsciously snuggled deeper into his chest Sirius tightened his embrace. Remus had fallen asleep in Sirius' arms, his back against his lover's chest, arms tangled in an affectionate knot. As he, too, succumbed to the warm, soothing blanket of slumber Sirius kissed the boy's shoulder and smiled. His thoughts were with his friends, those he trusted and respected and loved. He looked forward to a happy Christmas, filled with laughter, and mischief, and affection. All those things that a holiday without his family could finally provide. And as he drifted further into the dark water of sleep he was content, certain that the depths would no longer contain monsters, but peace and calm. And for tonight all he would dream of would be a very merry Christmas.

* * *

Merry Christmas, love Sham. 


End file.
